Astray
by abbytherat
Summary: Long John Silver was a man with a plan. Go on a few adventures, find Flint's treasure, and live out his days in luxury. However, sometimes plans go astray... Pre-Treasure Planet
1. Black Dog Appears

**I must give warning. I'm currently reading Treasure Island so I'll be adding references here and there. I haven't finished it yet though. I love Treasure Planet and I've had an idea along these lines for years, so here goes.**

**I don't own Treasure Planet or Treasure Island.**

**Hope you enjoy.**

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It was a quiet night, which was by no means a bad thing. In such an infamous bar as the Bristol, which made its claim for being frequented by all the worst rogues and scoundrels, the quiet nights were the only thing that kept poor old Aunt Desirae going.

The only real noise going on was that of the young man in the back corner. His voice was rolling and guffawing as jovially as a polished bell. A circle of some of the briniest old spacers were his rapt audience as he weaved a yarn from the threads of an old classic. She smiled, remembering the original story well. After all, it was she who leant the book to him in the first place. That boy was probably one of the few in the place who could read - aside from her - and he was certainly the only one who could make such a time-tested tale sound even better.

The men he had around him were regulars. None of them had ever sailed with him before, for though they could rough and tumble with the best of them, they kept to honest work. It didn't matter with her boy, though. He could keep his peace with the roughest of them, and even the most honest would honestly defend his character.

The peace was not meant to last though. She knew that the moment she heard the clikity-clop of fancy boots tromping through her door. Her hunched figure sagged at the sight of Black Dog and the frightened hush he brought with him. Her fingers continued to wipe the various glasses that needed wiping, her clean rag making not a squeak. She just kept her hawkish eyes on the trouble that walked in, and silently hoped things wouldn't get too bad.

Everyone went quiet and apprehensive, even the audience in the corner. Only her boy - bless him - continued his story like nothing was amiss, like one of the wildest cutthroats from one of the nastiest band of pirates since Flint himself had not just slumped into a chair and put his fancy boots up on another. The man in question didn't look like much. He looked like his name, a dog all shaggy and mangy, with hair as dark and oily as pitch spilling down his expensively clothed shoulders. The funny thing was, if his name didn't precede him, most would have laughed at him for a dandy. He had a nervous face and an uncertain countenance, but also a quick blade and a quicker temper. Those who had laughed in the past, would never laugh again.

And still her boy kept talking, ignoring the dirty lowdown look he was getting or the fact that the men around him were no longer paying attention.

Unfortunately Black Dog was not one who took kindly to being ignored. He grabbed the nearest glass of rum, ignored the little protest of it's reptilian owner, downed it one swallow, and hucked it at the boy's head. It crashed against the wall, but had the intended effect. The young man stopped talking.

He gave Aunt Desirae a look. When she sighed in response he smiled his big, merry smile and winked. She was far from reassured. As far as she knew, he had never yet tested the cut of his strength, and he had a knack for getting in over his head. She wasn't about to let him be killed in her own establishment, but she preferred not to get involved in these things.

He stood up and sidled out from his corner seat. "A fine day to ya, sir, and I apologize if I caused any offense," he said in his big, disarmingly charming voice. "I was tellin' these respectable gentleman a fine old fib, sir, but I'd sooner discuss any transgression I've made 'gainst yer person than risk anymore 'a my dear Auntie's glasses. She looses enough of 'em as it is."

She couldn't help but smile when Black Dog's eyes narrowed at the sight of the man he attempted to assault. Her boy may barely be into his twenties, but he was tall, much taller than the pirate, and bulkier too. He moved with an alarming energy through the tight space of the bar to sit next to a man he should have been terrified of.

Did he not realize that lack of fear _was_ his offense?

Black Dog frowned a frown that made his prissy face look ugly. "I see you like working that tongue of yours, but I suggest you quit with it or leave before I quit it for you." His voice was high and haughty. It would have been laughable had it not carried such a dangerous edge.

The fellow who had lost his drink a moment ago leaned in and whispered in the boy's ear. "Hey Barbecue, you may want'a take his word for it. That be _Black Dog_!"

"Eh? Black Dog ya say?" He took a more appraising look of the unsettled pirate and then brandished one of his oversized hands to shake. "I hafta say, Mr Dog sir, tis a pleasure to meet ya. A real treat."

'Mr Dog' didn't return the sentiment. He snarled and, without warning was swinging his sword at the boy's head.

Now I know it's more often than not that the big blowhards like her boy turn out to be useless, oafish dolts. But if there is one thing you need to learn fast while sailing the Etherium, it's that appearances seldom speak true.

Black Dog blinked. His sword had not met the flesh he expected. The hand the boy had offered in kind was gripped around his wrist, stopping it dead as though it were nothing. Even Aunt Desseray was surprised, though she should have known better. It would take more than a cutlass to pierce that thick a hide.

And her boy just kept on smiling. "Come now sir, there be no need for that. I'm only tryin' ta have a civil conversation wit'choo."

That pirate didn't look like he enjoyed being one-upped this way. His snarl dripped away, leaving an even more dangerous looking half-lidded frown. "Civil you say? I'm afraid the only civility I adhere to is that of the dead." He drew out his pistol and slowly clicked back the hammer.

Though ever fearless the young man's face lost its friendly demeanor as he gazed at the second weapon to be pulled on him in so many minutes. "Oh, I wouldn't be doin' that Mr Dog. Ya see, this here be me Auntie's place, and the Bristol don't suffer no brawling or barbarity wit' me present. The mess is too hard on me poor Auntie's bank book. So I'll ask ya kindly to put that away and behave like the upstandin' gentleman I know ya are, or I'll hafta escort ya from the premisses."

Was that a smidgen of disbelief that crossed Black Dog's features? He didn't pull the trigger, but instead took pause to weigh the situation. The boy's unshaking confidence had him at a loss. Then his eyes flicked to the owner, the woman who had been called Auntie with such endearing sentiment. She was still wiping the same glass and staring at him with her sharp, unblinking eyes. There was little resemblance between them, the boy being an Ursid and she of some bird-like species he didn't recognize.

A little smile twisted his mouth as he eased the hammer. "You're quite long-winded, sonny, but I like you. You have a name? Other than 'Barbacue' that is?"

"John, sir," the boy said happily. He let go of Black Dog's cutlass and smiled as though the whole altercation had never occurred. "And I'll tell ya sir, yer only half right. Long in tongue I may be, but never winded. You may lay to that."

To everyone's surprise the villainous pirate laughed and took the proffered hand in a dainty shake. "I may lay to it for certain, _Long John._ And now I heartily apologize for my appalling behavior and say that it is, indeed a pleasure." They both sat and John took up his yarn again, earning a great many more of those unexpected laughs from the pirate. After a time the tale came to its end and Black Dog made to leave. Before he did, he said the clincher, "And do you have a surname, that I may call upon again should I have need of such worthy entertainment?"

"Aye sir," said John, "it's Silver."

Dog's eyes were not the only to widened at that. "Silver?" said he. "Your name is John Silver? And John would be for Jonathan I'd wager?"

"Aye, he be me ole' grandad who I'm named for, but he's long expired sir, and holds little more to his name than I meself."

Black Dog smiled much more respectfully than he had yet, and looked on the boy as though looking on a gleaming treasure he had found buried in a bog. "I dare say his name holds a little more than 'little more,' sonny. You don't seem to know what legacy you're keeping, and I would be a fool not to offer one with such a name as Long John _Silver_ a place with the estimable Captain Pew."

John stood and gave Dog's hand a mighty shake. "And this here Long John Silver'd be a fool not to take yer offer, sir, but I'm afraid a fool he be. Ye see, I got me own agenda at this time. Plans, sir, and I intend on keepin' to 'em."

Dog pursed his lips and stiffly asked, "And what would these plans be?"

The boy's grin got a lot more devilish and suddenly he looked like he belonged in the line he was a part of. "Why findin' 'ole Flint's trove, sir, as is me due."

There was a collective gasp, and Black Dog, who's hand was still a prisoner in John's, took a step back and said, "You're daft!"

John let go of him and gave one of his famous belly laughs, the big gap in the front of his toothy grin making him look less dangerous than he was. "There you got me, Mr Dog! But it was a great honor makin' yer acquaintance and I wish the good Cap'n Pew all the best. Offer him to stop by the Bristol the next time ye make port, if you will."

The pirate looked at him strangely, but said, "Yes. Yes I certainly shall. Good day to you, and good searching, sonny." There was humor in his voice and he touched a finger to his forelock as he left. No one could recall that man making so polite before, and non would again until the next time these two would meet.

The tension in the room didn't lift once he was gone. Instead it was directed at John, a new kind of respect and fear that he might have deserved but didn't want. Him being the smart boy that he was, decided not to fight it. He ignored the many eyes around the room and sat at the bar. "See Auntie," he said as cheerfully as a child, "not a mess, 'cept that bit a broken glass at the back."

Desirae chuckled and shook her head. Only her John could disarm a dangerous pirate in such a way. "I am surprised you do not take offer."

John looked scandalized. "What me? Wit' a bloodthirsty lot like them? Not on me mother's grave!"

She chuckled again, but choked down a pained sigh. He was such a nice boy. He had such an earnest innocence to him, but she knew it did not have long to last. Not with the path he was insisting on taking.

She watched as he started a raucous song about spacers and rum that the rest of the patrons couldn't help but take up. Even after what he had proclaimed, they couldn't keep their consternation against him for long.


	2. The Start of a Problem

**It's late and I'm going to bed.**

**Don't own any of this good stuff here.**

**Hope you enjoy.**

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The planet Donsemede was home to a major port long before the crescent space station of Montressor had ever been dreamed of, which was a long time ago indeed. However, Donsemede is near the Megellanic Cloud, and though this put it in a prime position for mining the various ore dusts, it also put it in a rather dangerous spot for space faring. Stray too close to the Cloud on an open decked ship while lacking the proper gear, and you're likely to end up coughing up your own lungs... literally. So it was that when the Empire looked to build a Space Port in that sector, it was Montressor that got the vote. Its completion left the port on Donsemede little more than a derelict ruin.

That was before Flint. Though the legend himself had little need for a place of business, the rest of the Buccaneers who appeared in his wake found themselves in a bit of difficulty. There were lawless zones scattered around Empire where they could sell their dishonest wares, but most were at the outer edges. They were a wasteful hassle to reach, especially when prime business was to be had in the shipping lanes. At the time, the only real significant port was Montressor. With the Royal Academy and the Interstellar Fleet both stationed there, only an imbecile would go near it with a bounty to his or her name.

With this in mind, a couple of rum runners set up shop in the ruins of Donsemede. They were quickly followed by every cutthroat in the galaxy, and despite frequent raids by the Fleet, the illegal port and trade flourishes to this day.

It was here, sitting on a loading stand, that a large man of the dog-like Canid species made straight his books. His skin and fur was white as bleached bone, which gave him a regal appearance. Fitting because he was the Squire, one of the only true men of station on the planet. Grumbling from time to time while doing computations in his head, he ignored his workers as they loaded a cart with boxes and barrels of food and talked amongst themselves. That is, until he realized that one of them was calling to him.

"Yes, what is it Joyce?" he asked.

Joyce, a tall, muscular human who had been long ago bronzed by Donsemede's powerful sun, indicated one of the fruit vendors who was helping to load wares. "Kae'svalt here says he met an Ursid come off the transport this mornin'. Wasn't you sayin' you was in quarrel with one lately?"

One of the Squire's eyebrows rose at that. The Ursid were highly uncommon in this sector and especially on this planet - unless they were brought in as merchandise. He snapped his book shut and said, "Yes, I believe I did. Mr Kae'svalt," he addressed the vendor, "did you by chance see where this fellow went?"

"Yes sir," the little, red furred creature answered. "He's staying at the Merry Lout, I believe. He was a peculiar one to be sure."

That sounded about right. "Good man, good man." The squire heaved his bulk out of his chair. "Alright Joyce, if you'll finish up here and take this cart to my estate. Redruth, with me." He made off into the market followed by a fellow Canid who was much thinner and much more servile.

As they came up to a run down looking inn the Squire spotted him, a great lump of a man wearing a white shirt and a red bandana around his head. He was sitting with his arms upon the porch railing and his head upon them. One look was all the Squire needed to be sure this was his man.

"Silver!" he cried as he made his approach. The flick of an ear in his direction was the only acknowledgement he got. "Silver!" he said again once he reached the porch and stood by. "I have had about enough of you, young man. Now look here-"

His words caught in his throat when Silver did just that. A look as heated and sharp as a fresh blade it was, and though there was no reputation to back it, the Squire couldn't help but feel a prick of fear.

As for Silver, he lost his edge and sighed through his nose, then stood with a forcefully affixed smile. "Me apologies, Mr Trewlarney," he said respectfully enough, "I gots meself in a bit of a mood is all, but no more a that. What can I do for ya?"

The Squire drew himself up, recovering his nerve. "You can start by reining that tongue of yours, and you can finish by returning my boat."

Silver somehow managed to retain his smile, but it looked like a close thing. "Yer boat, ya say?" The words sounded as though it was a struggle to get them out.

"Yes, my boat. You _do_ remember my boat? The one I rented to you for two months and haven't seen in a_ year_?"

He gave an uneasy chuckle and rubbed the back of his head with his right hand. "A 'course I remember, sir. A fine sloop to be certain, but if you'll just hear me out-"

"The only thing I'll hearout of you is the answer to my question!" barked the Squire. His fare face was growing red in blotches. "Now, I'm only asking this one more time; _Where is my boat?"_

The anger behind these words made the young man stiffen. A moment later his shoulders drooped in defeat. "What pieces that'r left are in orbit 'round Gatg, but I swear to you that it wasn't me fault." He paused, worried by the Squire's reddened face and lack of reaction. "I was attacked, see? Without provocation it was, and I barely made it out wit' me life."

"I see..." the Squire finally said. The calmness of his voice defied his obvious anger, but he was not known for having a rash manner. He'd have been gutted long ago by an angry ruffian if he was. "I see... and exactly how long ago was this?"

The young man's eyes shifted to the other patrons of the Inn, imploring for _some_ escape from the situation. The few that were there were watching with amusement. One skinny robot snickered nastily and got up from his seat, but quickly walked away.

"Silver?"

He turned back to the Squire. "I'd say... 'bout three weeks."

The Squire nodded sagely. "That means you still had her nearly a year more than you payed me for. When, pray tell, did you intend on returning her?"

"Um... soon as I has the money ta cover the longer lease?" He was smiling again with a touch of desperation.

"And I'm guessing you don't have that money?"

"No sir, but if you'll-"

"That's enough." The Squire put up his hand to command silence. "This is the third time you've crossed me, Silver, and so I have a bit of a problem. You see, I may be a wealthy man, and the loss of one sloop may be of little consequence to my fortune, but it certainly won't stay that way if I start going soft on people who steal from me. Which is why, as I am the highest authority in this God forsaken place, I'm going to demand you come with me for sentencing."

Silver didn't move, and he didn't look afraid or intimidated. It was Redruth, who had stayed silent and dignified during the exchange, who noticed the simmering look his master was getting and took a step back. It wasn't that Silver was known for violence, quite the contrary. The few people who had met the young man found him to be harmless - a blowhard who was all talk and no action - but he still carried a sword and pistol and he was an Ursid. This meant he was big, and _very_ strong. In the unlikely event that he should fly into a rage, the Squire would be dead in an instant.

The fat old man didn't realize this. "You look like you're going to run," he said. "By all means go ahead, but if you start a chase, I can guarantee it will end in your death."

"Now hold on," said Silver. "I ain't no thief, and you got no right ta accuse me as such. I came back, didn't I? I'm ownin' up, and on me honor I'm gonna compensate ya in full."

"I might have believed you, back before I knew there isn't an honest bone in your body."

"So what? You lock me up? Have me executed? What'll that get ya, sir? A lot less than this man 'ere out there, workin' te make that fortune a yers bigger, is what."

Redruth was becoming severely nervous and decided to speak up. "He has a point, sir."

"I don't care if he has a point," barked the Squire. He then drew a long breath to calm himself, and regarded Silver with careful scruteny.

Silver, sensing the careful balance of an outcome, wisely stayed silent.

Finally the Squire said, "You did come back, I must give you that. If you're not honest, you're at least honorable, but you're a fool, Silver, and that's going to get you killed. Still, I feel some pity for you." He looked the man up a few more times and sighed. "I can't believe I'm saying this, but you have a month."

Silver instantly perked up. He opened his grinning mouth to say something, but the Squire cut him off.

"You have one month to pay back _all_ of your debt to me, and then I am quite of you." His voice became businesslike. "If you come back here at that time and you don't have payment, you'll receive a fair trial, just as you would today. If you don't come back, than I will send the finest bounty hunters available. They will find you, and they will bring you back in _pieces_. Do I make myself clear?"

"Aye, aye Mr Trewlarney!" said Silver, as enthusiastic as ever. He even gave a cheerful salute, and as the Squire made off, he continued to call after him. "And ye won't be regrettin' this kindness t'wards me, Mr Trewlarney, sir! You may lay to that!"

Once the Squire was finally gone he groaned and slumped back into his seat, wiping the frustration from his eyes.


	3. Parley

**Don't own.**

**Hope you enjoy.**

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Silver sat for a very long time doing nothing but stare at a stain on the floorboards. This was actually similar to the state he'd been in before his little confrontation... quietly milling thoughts in his head.

"_Fifteen men on a dead man's chest!_

_ Yo-ho-ho, and a bottle of rum!"_

He was instantly jolted out of his musing. Some old fellow was already stone drunk despite it being the middle of the afternoon, and he had his mug of drink raised as he cried the old refrain. His friends were not quite as far gone as he, and looked a mixture of embarrassment and horror. The man took a good swig. His cheeks turning a merry red, he laughed at his own boldness.

He got a dirty look from Silver, but little more than that. The Ursid, sour over someone else's noise for once, slung his sack over a shoulder and walked away towards the harbor. The sitting had done him little good anyways. He didn't know his way around, but let his feet carry him where they would.

The planet was ironically bright considering all that went on. There was little moisture in the sky which meant the sun would beat down mercilessly by day. Once it went down, its rays were caught and reflected by the Megellanic Cloud, which in turn bathed Donsemede in an eerie blue-green glow. In this way there was never a true night.

The perpetual metallic tang in the air was sometimes overridden by the sent of fruit and meat being sold, as well as about a dozen speciel variations of body odor. Having such a power sense of smell as Silver had actually helped. It meant his tolerance was also much higher.

His sight wasn't so fortunate. A number of the things his eyes fell upon he wished they hadn't. Here some ancient, endangered animal stung up and gutted, there a line of slaves chained together, bound for who knows what hell...

Not even four years ago he would have been appalled by less. Back then he would have _done_ something, or at least tried. Now it just made him feel a little bad, and that bothered him. Without noticing, he had developed a 'back then,' into which he could look and see what he had been against what he was now. As a youth, all he had was the present and the future. To suddenly find himself with a past was disconcerting.

But what a past! He set out for Flint's trove when he was 15, and he was now 24. In that span he had probably gone further and seen more than most spacers twice his age.

This was also part of the current problem. 9 years he spent crisscrossing the galaxy after leads that lead nowhere, and he was getting tired of it. The constant disappointment was finally taking its toll. It was making him impatient. This caused him to make mistakes (like getting involved with the Squire, for one), and now all the leads were dead and for the life of him he couldn't come up with _any _way out of this mess without creating a bigger one.

Someone was following him.

He was careful to keep his pace and look oblivious. He didn't even try to glance back as he continued up the street. There! An alley! He turned into it, happy to find a relatively isolated space where he could deal with this without getting a town full of criminals involved. Thankfully the alley was open at both ends so he could retreat if need be. When he was about halfway through he stopped.

"Long John Silver," came a lofty voice from behind him, "I hear you have some tribulations concerning that insufferable Trewlarney. Personally I would kill him."

He turned around with a smile, but also with a drawn pistol. "Aye," he said, "but I'd just as soon avoid being hunted to the ends a the galaxy over the likes a him. Now, to what do I owe the pleasure, Mr Dog?"

Black Dog himself was standing not ten paces away, this time dressed in his usual garb of a plain blue spacer's coat, an uncolored shirt underneath, and black trousers. The only thing the same was the fancy boots. He was casually inspecting his nails as he said, "Does one need a reason to seek out engaging acquaintances? Though I must say, sonny, you really have gotten yourself into a spot of bother."

Silver shrugged without wavering his aim. "It's a hobby a mine. I likes ta see how tight a spot I can get meself out of."

"A worthy pastime, I'm sure. Now, I would ask why _you_ have a weapon drawn while _I_ am attempting civil conversation, but the irony would be nauseating."

"It's not that I don't appreciate a good _repartee_," the younger man finished this line with a flourish that bordered on scornful, then he abandoned all good humor, "but I ain't in the mood. Care ta wager a guess as ta why that is, Mr Dog?"

Black Dog stroked his well trimmed black goatee with an expression of mock contemplation. "Would it have anything to do with my overzealous Captain and that bounty hunter he hired?"

Giving an unpleasant smirk, Silver said, "Good guess."

"Indeed." Black Dog went back to inspecting his nails. "To my credit," he said, "I told Captain Pew it was in ill sport, but he's an old man and I fear it has rendered him impatient. He was upset when he missed meeting you, and he wearied of awaiting your return."

"Not that I 'old ye responsible fer the actions of yer Cap'n, but you'll haf'ta forgive me fer not trustin' ya. I s'pose yer here ta take me to 'em?"

Black Dog smiled in an attempt at charm and held his hands before him as though offering some priceless bauble. "On the contrary, sonny. The Captain was prepared to send half the crew for your capture, but for his sake and yours, I took it upon myself to come before you and offer a parley."

Silver's eyebrows lowered and his nose wrinkled in a look of confusion. "Parley? What the Devil 'ud he want a parley for? I can't fathom why he's taken an interest in me. I don't gots nuttin' ta offer, 'cept maybe a good pair a space-legs, but there's thousands a spacers me like comin' and goin' every day. And what's he got to offer me, eh? What in the whole bloody galaxy could an old pirate like 'im give me, 'sides a bunch a problems I don't want?"

When the pirate grinned, his wine colored lips peeled back to reveal a multitude of sharp, yellowed teeth. "I only have an inkling to his interest in you, but I lack the confidence to say it. As for what Captain Pew can extend, I haven't the foggiest." The glint in his dark eyes was like the spark of a pistol as it shot through a heart. "However, the Captain is a _very _old man... so old, in truth, that he was alive in the days of Flint himself." He paused so that Silver could digest that statement. "Whether you accept my word or not, to speak with a man who may have first hand knowledge of that elusive subject you seek... well, it must be _awfully_ tempting."

Silver's face was expressionless for all of two seconds before he looked to the side and sucked at his teeth in a contemplative manner. It only took him a moment to come to a decision. His mouth curved into a smile and he tucked his gun away. "Alright, ya gots me. Parley on, Mr Dog." He gave his hand a motion that suggested Black Dog should lead the way.

The Pirate, however, blinked with a frown and a puzzled brow. "That's it?" he asked, with a quirk of the upper lip.

With a shrug, Silver said, "I'm outa leads, and I don't fancy meetin' another bounty hunter."

It took a moment, but Black Dog shrugged as well. "Alrighty then." He waited for Silver to follow, and then began to lead the way.

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The _Luminal Ray_ itself was a sleek, beauty of a ship, but inside, in the captain's quarters was a dark, gloomy, hoard. In a way it was a gallery of one man's lifetime of misdeeds. There were objects over a hundred years old, worn out things the use or significance of which were lost to all but their owner. Amongst these were countless trinkets and priceless artifacts that were, for some reason or another, kept instead of sold with the rest of the booty. These formed incongruous heaps that collected dirt and grew cobwebs like so many lace skirts. The only clean surface in the entire space was the big, black table that took up it's center. No one ever cleaned in there. The only people who entered were the Captain and occasionally the first mate.

There came a knock on the rich wooden door and a soft voice responded with, "Come in." The hinges were poorly oiled and cried as Black Dog entered.

"I've brought him, Captain," he said, seemingly to the room.

"Good, very good." The voice ghosted out like the sound of sheets in the wind. It was soft, and yet not a word of it could be missed.

John Silver came in behind Black Dog and looked about perplexedly. At first he thought there was no one in the room, and he would have gone on believing it if not for the persistent scratching noise. It was too broken and rhythmless to be caused by something that was not alive. His eyes sought out the source and he noticed that what he had mistaken for a particularly misshapen, cloth covered mound was, in fact, breathing. This strange creature was standing over a lectern, its protruding hand grasping a quill and writing in a heavy book. Once Black Dog had slipped back out and shut the door, the quill was dipped in an ink well and left there. Slowly the creature turned around. This didn't help much towards it's identity, as its brown cloak fell over its face and concealed its features. The only thing Silver could see of it was two glowing red lights that he assumed were its eyes.

Uncomfortable in the presence of this mysterious being, the Ursid was the first to break the silence. "Uh, me name's John Silver, sir. Would you be Cap'n Pew?"

The thing paused and he felt the lights burning into him like embers. "I am," it finally said. "Forgive me rudeness, lad. Have a seat." The same hand that had been writing gestured towards an ornately carved chair, and glinted as it vanished back under the cloak.

Once Silver had taken up the proffered chair, the Captain began to move about, searching for some object amongst his many things. He had a pronounced limp, which turned each movement into a lurch. "I'm glade yer here, lad. I most surely am. I was upset, _very _upset when I heard you escaped Lesil. I was told she be the best, I was, and I wonder... I wonder, how did you do it?" He stopped to 'look' at his guest.

Silver rubbed nervously at the back of his neck. "Twas nuttin' big really, but I'll be keepin' it to meself. I'll say this much though: she's regrettin' she ever heard a John Silver, and you may lay to that."

_Bang!_

He nearly jumped out of his seat as a dusty bottle was slammed on the table. He stared at it in alarm as it's honey colored contents sloshed wildly. "Ioti rumbullion," said Captain Pew, "the finest there ever was, and ye cannot get it anymore. This bit here is older than me." He placed a pare of rum sniffers next to the bottle and that's when Silver noticed it. Those hands weren't made of flesh. They were mechanical, three fingered, each digit ending in a bladed point. Silver's eyes followed the tip of one as it sank into soft cork and wrenched the bottle open. "That's how close this meetin' is ta me heart, lad," the old man continued as he carefully poured an even portion into each glass. "I couldn't think of a more worthy brew fer such an occasion. After all, this be the first drink 'tween Pew and Silver since Flint went off ta Davy Jones."

One of the glasses was pushed towards Silver, and in doing so, the Captain stretched his long right arm into the faint lamp light. The metal ended halfway down the forearm, and the rest was loose white skin that made Silver think of leather that was left to the elements for far too long. The appendage was gone again in a flash, but it left him reeling. The old pirate was a cyborg!

Cyborgs never sat well with him, but he didn't reveal his discomfort. He gave the offered drink a glance, snorted, and said, "So the only reason yer after me is that ye knew me granddad?"

Captain Pew picked up his glass and swirled the liquid. "No... I met him, I knew _of _him, but I never knew him."

Silver frowned at him and said, "And ya don't know me, sir. If ya think I be anythin' like him just 'cause a me name, than yer daft. A name's a name. It means nothin'"

"Ah, but blood... the right blood can mean everything. You have worth, lad. Shiver me, but I've lived too long to be blind a that. I want you in me crew, and in case you haven't noticed," he swept his arms to indicate everything in the room, "I get what I want."

Silver was starting to get panicked, found its outlet in anger. It took several deep breaths to calm him before he could say, "So do I, and I _don't _want ta have anythin' ta do wit'choo."

Though he couldn't see it, he could swear that under the cowl, the old man was smiling. "Why is that?"

"'Cause I value me freedom, Cap'n Pew," he had calmed enough to return to his usual amiability. "I likes ta go where I like wit'out the risk a bein' clapped in irons and thrown in prison."

"And so we've come to our parley."

He blinked, then smiled. "And so we have," he said.

The Captain nodded. "If ye have a mind, I'll be layin' down fer both our sides and then you can say yer piece."

"Fine wit' me," said Silver with a shrug.

Another nod, "I know of yer dept, lad, and I know it be more than one little sloop, so I propose a wager. I wager ye won't be able to pay up by the deadline a one month. When ye don't, I'll pay Trewlarney for ya, and you'll join me crew."

Silver watched him warily and said, "And what if I makes the deadline?"

The Captain didn't answer straight away. He drummed his metal fingers on the table as he thought carefully on how he was to word this next part. "I did not simply live in Flint's time, no. I served in his crew. Yer searching fer Treasure Planet, right? Well I've _been_ there. I'm one a the handful ta survive that last voyage, and I be the only man in the galaxy who could tell ya where ta find the map."

Well that got Silver's attention. "The map?!?" he nearly stood and it took all of his will to settle back down. "The map is lost!" he hissed under his breath.

Captain Pew leaned towards him in a secretive manner. "I swear ta ye, it's not," he hissed back. "And _if_ ye meet the Squire's deadline, I'll tell ye all I know."

The younger man sat back and ran a wearied hand over his face. It was tempting, certainly, but there was no way he trusted the old pirate's words. He also had no sure way of winning the bet. He stared at his drink... rum. He blinked. What was it about rum? Something from earlier... something his father told him once. Than he picked up the glass, made a toast, and smirked darkly at the Captain. With rhythm and power, he said,

_"Fifteen men on a dead man's chest!_

_ Yo-ho-ho, and a bottle a rum!"_

Captain Pew stilled, went stiff. He would have paled if he could. Suddenly he was no longer an old pirate Captain, but simple, scrawny Pew. This was no longer the _Luminal Ray,_ and the man sitting across from him was one he feared from the very depths of his soul. Everyone knew that line. It was the Buccaneer's Toast, common to bars across the Etherium since who knows when, but few were privy to the words that were said next.

When he spoke, Pew's voice whispered out like a man possessed...

_"Drink and the devil had done fer the rest._

_ Yo-ho-ho, and a bottle of rum."_

John Silver grinned his devil's grin and gulped down the fine old rumbullion in one swig. "I accept yer terms, Cap'n Pew."


End file.
